Spices
by Zagzagel
Summary: There never seemed to be a rest from people trying to open doorways best left shut.


_Author's note – this is for the Writer's Anonymous Random Opener Challenge. The time period of this piece is nebulous. _

**_~x~_**

All right, maybe it wasn't the best way to start off a conversation.

His knuckles were just beginning to ache as he shook out his hand, little drops of blood being flung out as Sam just sighed near him, rubbed his temples and glared at the splatter on the white tile floor. At least the place was clean; the scent of whatever had been the house special last night still noticeable under the smell of soap.

A low moaning was coming from the direction of his boots but the guy was down, not moving much,

"Dude, not everything needs to be punched."

Dean really wanted to point out that sometimes, yes, yes it was needed when the first words out of someone's mouth were a vile combination of slurs said with some nasty turn of his lip, like saying that to two strangers with badges - albeit fake but so not the point – was a good way to start anything.

"Feel free to jump in anytime as the good cop," he said, watching his brother's face get bitchier by the second.

He nudged the leg nearest him, only a weak reflex, and Dean crouched down, looking for weapons. One 9mm and a boot knife later and he felt very sure in his punch first, search later, policy he had just enacted. Never mind it wasn't just about the words, that unsettling comment about the necklace was still fresh and he knew he wasn't the only one who caught it. It was the necklace the victim's sister said was missing, the one that had been worn for twenty years without fail because it was the last gift from their father before his sudden death. No way had the guy known what it was unless he was at least a pre-grave robber and Dean didn't think they were lucky enough for it to just stop there.

"Think you can talk?"

Another low groan and then one hand rose up with the finger, so definite yes, but probably wouldn't. Dean crouched down again, pulling the guy up by his collar, shaking him a little as those eyes became focused and mean.

"That lady that got all torn up on your back step, you know her?" Dean resisted the urge the just smack his head into the floor until he got an answer he wanted. "Ten bucks and a necklace say you did."

No answer. Sam moved around, his oversized frame hulking over them, and Dean was secretly delighted at the guy's response to move more towards him to avoid the damage Sam was promising. He really wanted to say that he was the one that hit harder, no matter how big Sam's meat hook hands were.

"Someone got disemboweled a foot past that door and you don't know a thing, aren't worried it's coming back for munchies later?" Dean watched and there wasn't fear, just another of those nasty little smiles.

"You know what ate her, don't you?" his brother said, still looming. "So you are it, called it, or know it."

Still nothing. Sam got out a flask and poured it on the guy's head, saying 'Cristo' as though a pond's worth of holy water wasn't enough to at least sting. No steam, no screams of pain or black eyes. Dean pulled his knife, slashing the guy's arm that merely flinched at the pain and not the silver.

Damn.

Demons inhabiting humans were one thing. Poor sods were usually so worn down by the bastards that their bodies were well past broken so death was a release. Didn't make it right, but it was easier torturing the twisted black things before killing them if it saved others. But an actual human, not possessed or monster infected, something that was looking more and more like flesh and blood and normal outside of the summoning of bad crap? Not really his deal and didn't want it to be his deal. He had enough left of hell inside him that it still looked too attractive and was a big reason to bow out now.

Sam motioned that he'd be right back and Dean kept his eyes on the guy. It was still early hours, no one else here yet, but he didn't like to be in such a public place. Some well-meaning hostess could bop on in early and would freak. Even with badges and dressed nicely, beating and tying up some dude to haul off was hard to explain. And that was with innocent civilians. For all they knew, there could be some human/monster meet and greet brunch about to go down. They'd seen weirder and he didn't have the ammo on him for that.

Minutes clicked by with the only sound being the industrial fans keeping the air moving and things cooling. The stainless steel everything made him feel like it was more of a morgue than some upscale kitchen with a waiting list two months long for food that apparently had the selling point of being artsy.

That alone made Dean not trust the guy.

Sam came back with a bag, finally, and they got the guy shackled, tape over his mouth, with Sam moving his head to go out the back door. Dean would be forever thankful that his brother had had the wherewithal to move the car around as they tossed their prisoner into the trunk, slamming the lid closed on that little problem for the moment.

This whole thing ate at him...and _that _was probably the wrong word. Something wormed inside him that this was even worse than some off the rail monster in need of a good diet. Rich, nice area with overpriced everything – hell the water was five dollars a bottle on this block – so brutal, ritual-like murders did not jive with the vibe here. But that didn't stop the seeping feeling in him since they had pulled into this town, that creeping idea that something big and old was lying in wait, demanding its cut and what it wanted wasn't green.

"Witches?" he asked, as he and Sam began to search the kitchen.

"Dunno." Sam paused, shaking his head. "I thought, maybe, something like that but there's no signs, no hex bags. This feels…"

"Weird. Really weird. Like more weird than we usually deal with."

"Yeah."

Dean really wished his brother thought he was around the bend instead of so readily agreeing with his nutsy thought processes.

The fridges were normal: no body parts or crazy in them. No stored humans in the freezer for later or eyeballs lying around to make soup out of. Nada. The only thing that stood out to him were some of the spices. They didn't set off any bells, but they were different, very foreign. Could be just some posh thing, but they were all at the end and almost separate. They might be for the big wigs willing to throw a hundred down the drain for a three-leaf salad with a gourmet crouton, but he took them anyway, not wanting to take that chance.

Nothing else to be seen while his paranoia grew by the second. Sam seemed to feel the same; his movements became more on edge as if he was preparing to draw his weapon at any moment. A few more minutes of looking but there didn't seem to be anything to find if one wasn't looking for a well-kept, nicely decked out kitchen.

Back to the car it was, and Dean felt a huge relief being in Baby again before remembering they had cargo in the trunk.

"Remember what he said?" Sam asked as Dean started her up. "Just meat. That's all she was. Didn't matter, just us being all worried about a sack of meat.

Dean nodded, not liking where this might be going as they hauled ass out of there.

**~x~**

The guy just grinned, strapped to a chair, blood seeping from his lip as Dean tried to get information from him. For once, he was glad they were squatting and not in some run-down, god knows what disease-ridden last chance hotel. Running water was great and all, but for this kind of thing, privacy was better, since he was sure the ass would have started screaming just to bring down the real police on them. This way, they were ready to go.

"You really do talk with your fists."

That grin with the blood-stained teeth seemed way too vibrant and Dean wanted to hit him again. There was something so unnerving about this guy, something so off that insane would be kind and way too normal.

"You like violence."

Dean rubbed his throbbing hand, trying to get the want to beat the guy into unconsciousness so he'd just shut up in check. Five dead women, police confused and nothing but guts left plastered in alleys in strange designs and missing hearts. No teeth marks, the wounds made by claws, so much so that the locals thought it was some sort of bear or cougar lurking, starving and desperate but nothing had been found. All they had was five dead women with their insides on the outside.

"Embrace it," the guy was saying, his face twisted up into something that Dean had rarely seen outside of hell. "Let it run through you."

Somehow, someway, he resisted just beating the guy into the ground and turned, going to find Sam. The floorboards creaked under his boots, warped from the leaks in the roof but still solid, if not slightly spongey, for now. Mildew and something else filled his nose in the sharp, chilled air. He hated being here, hated not having a bed even if it smelled like something had died just yesterday in it. He hated not having hot water because dealing with this made him feel like he needed six showers just to get halfway to normal again. Sometimes, the car was better than what they found.

Sam's face wasn't improving his mood.

"I don't know," Sam was saying, only glancing to make sure it was him and not some threat. "It's like witchcraft, but not. Those things that they have, they're ceremonial, but they bring and welcome death."

His brother was slumped over, rubbing his eyes over and over again, his body a live wire and Dean knew he wasn't far behind on that one. This old house, that creepy dude they had kidnapped but didn't seem at all bothered that they had tossed in in a trunk and beat him, all these murders that looked like a monster but maybe weren't.

"Need to look at the bastard's house," Dean said, looking at the license in the wallet he had lifted when they had gotten the guy here. "Maybe there's something there, some sign of a coven or black magic or even just an Ouija board spelling out 'you're screwed'."

There was a long sigh from Sam as he got to his feet.

"We need to make a stop first. Get some things. There's a place that's not too far."

Dean raised an eyebrow but decided that Sam might have a better idea since he was the one responsible for the death herbs. Personally, he'd take a howitzer designed to take out anything, but he doubted that was in stock.

Not that he had a problem shoving a gag back into the guy's mouth and getting him up, little drops of blood from his bruised face dripping down onto his ruined dress shirt as they went back to the car. Couldn't leave him here by himself, not when he kept saying things like, "You'll see. You'll see and understand the wonder."

Dean shivered. He had seen 'wonders' and knew it was a nightmare brewing, no matter what was causing it.

Sam directed him to a more run-down part of town, one of the hundreds of main streets hit hard over the past few years. Multiple storefronts were empty, broken glass and boards standing between the few places actually operating. Not the best place for any business, but the one they wanted was here, and he saw the hunter sign in the window as he pulled up to the curb.

A jingle, the little bell above it doing its duty, and a lanky, middle-aged man who looked like he would have problems wrestling noodles let alone monsters came out to meet them.

"Welcome. What may I help you with today? Perhaps you are looking for clarity."

Dean had zero ideas what the hell they were looking for as this was a Sam department, but clarity on this whole damn business, well, he would take that in a nanosecond.

"We need protection," Sam said, his words slow as he measured up the man.

It wasn't a lost effort as the man, whose nametag read Stan, suddenly turned serious, something understanding in those eyes.

"Against what?"

Again, his brother seemed hesitant and this didn't seem like the best time for that. All he had gotten from that guy was that they needed to eviscerate everyone who stood in their way and all Sam had was doom plants.

"I think," Sam paused, still unsure, still staring. "I think something was called over. Or is trying to be."

"Do you know what?"

Sam shook his head, reciting the herbs they had found off by themselves in the corner of that large kitchen and Dean wondered how they picked their victims. Outside of the unlucky fact that they were all women, it might be a bloodline or a look or some other innate quality like how the dragons wanted virgins.

Stan, to his credit, lost a lot of color in his face, and then went to work, pulling out several jars. Dean recognized a lot of the standbys, a few vaguer but nothing with outwardly evil connections. Sam's eyes were laser-focused on it, and Dean wasn't sure if his brother was making sure there weren't tricks or was trying to remember this for the next time they crashed a barbeque, as Stan tied the bundles with thin twine.

"So, a bunch of dried twigs is going to save us?" He hated the way it sounded but it was true. Half this crap sounded like stuff he'd put on chicken, not used to hope he wasn't dragged off the earthly plane faster.

Stan looked pissed, which Dean admired.

"It's more like a broad attack. Since you don't know what it is yet, then it's best to cover more than less."

"So, like a weak attack that might annoy it?"

Sam shouldered him roughly, though Stan looked like he was over the questions.

"You're here for the murders."

They both hesitated, not really wanting to confirm that they were actually hunters. The fewer people that saw their faces and remembered them, the safer it was for everyone. Not that what they wanted wouldn't give them away, but maybe they could skip the whole name sharing and handshake crap.

"There's probably a book. Usually, there is. Something people shouldn't read but do anyways because it always sounds better than reality." Stan was rambling a bit as he finished the bundles. "I can't guarantee that it will work, but it may buy you some time."

"Great. Always appreciate a few extra seconds before disemboweling."

Sam, after getting the little bundles which there was no charge for, was dragging him out of the little store, back to his typical, easily riled up self, which Dean was secretly delighted to see right now.

"Can't you behave for like three frigging minutes while someone helps?"

"Sorry, can't say I'm a fan of having to dry rub my monsters before the roasting part, Sammy."

He laughed at the look Sam gave him over the roof of the car before getting in, his brother slamming the door a little too hard.

"What do you want me to say, that I feel really confident now that we have our glorified incense to wave around?"

"Just shut up and drive," Sam muttered.

That feeling of being watched intensified as he pulled out, knowing his sulking brother felt it too as Sam kept an eye on the mirrors.

**~x~**

The guy's place was at least swanky, with a very handy spot right by the front door of the condo to be able to haul his ass in without many eyes. It got dark early this time of year, and the parking lot was empty, so hopefully, a lot of people working and not committed green commuters or carless hermits.

It was larger than it looked on the outside, full floor to ceiling windows looking out at a small group of trees with a partial second floor along one half. The furniture was modern looking crap that was all style and no comfort, and while it was pristine there was a staleness to the air like nothing had been opened here for weeks or months.

Dean pushed the guy down on the couch, Sam drawing his weapon as he himself cleared the first floor. All the normal things normal humans had and nothing was bleeding or screaming 'demons' or 'ancient evil terror' as he lowered his gun down a little as he returned to the front room.

He shouldn't have removed the gag.

"He hasn't found one worthy yet," the man rasped out.

Dean had some serious concerns at that moment as to whether the guy had taken in exhaust fumes or if the crazy in his eyes was from a different source.

"Worthy of what?"

"To be his avatar. His physical form. We've tried, oh we've tried to please him but they were all impure, dying when he came to them."

"And what happens when he gets all fitted out for the big dance?"

"We will be greatly rewarded."

Those wide eyes, not really seeing, made Dean wish it was just run of the mill evil with too much free time and a human-hating fetish. He wanted to tell the guy that all sorts of things were promised but usually, it was just death. Angels, demons, whatever the hell this thing was, all they knew was to kill, even the most loyal to them. Not that it would do any good. Everyone always thought they were the exception, something special instead of just in the way.

"Dean."

He looked up, his brother on the second floor, motioning to him. Prying up the guy, he dragged him up the stairs, unnerved again by the quiet laughter that was grating more and more on his nerves.

There, in the bedroom closet, was the altar. Shriveled up items that Dean didn't want to touch and assumed were organs of some sort, a chalice of dark liquid decorated in gems, and a book. Stan the man had been right – there was always a book. Dean wanted to know what sick psycho wrote these books instead of just using what they knew. It was like they had the foresight to know they would fail, so they provided the blueprint for all the psychos yet to come to try and try until they got it right.

It never seemed to be the people with knowledge doing this crap, but using whatever lackey's they could toss into the machine.

Sam was flipping through the book and Dean did not want to ask what it was made out of.

"Anything?" he finally asked when his brother failed to even look back over at him.

"I – I guess it's summoning something. What, I don't know."

"Can we send it back?"

Sam was quiet, those furrows on his brow deepening.

"Sammy," he tried, his brother seemingly lost in reading and Dean grabbed the book from his hands. For a split second, his brother got a look on his face that was pure malice, actually snarling, his eyes with that same crazy look before getting a grip.

Whether it was always this powerful, or if it was because it was used, Dean didn't know and didn't care, just like he didn't know or care if their hostage was always dancing on the line to crazy.

"Latin," Dean said, flipping through, trying to not read more than two words in succession and end up just as enthralled as Sam. "Think you can make a spell in the same to send this thing back?"

"Maybe." Sam's voice was slow like he was waking up. "I think, maybe. Don't know if it will work or just buy time."

"Kay. Might be our best shot."

Sam was closing the closet door back up when Dean smelled it. Decaying and close, all the air in the room stilled before the pressure receded, and he got a feeling that backup was being summoned.

"Don't think we have time for a round trip, Sam."

His brother hesitated, Dean not liking the longing in his eyes still as they looked back at the book. Fortunately, Sam was still mostly there, running his hands down his face and Dean knew they were not opening that damn thing up again, even as the cover felt like it was moving, restless, in his hands.

"Don't even have a name."

"Probably some unpronounceable gibberish," Dean said, trying to hide how unnerved he was as seconds ticked by. "Intent and all that. Even if it just gets us out of here right now."

Rummaging around, they found some paper, and Sam got to work, Dean not offering the book back and his brother not asking though there were looks. It was oppressive in here, and he shifted, uncomfortable, looking for a place to set the book down and trying to get rid of the distinct feeling that they were marked.

"They are coming," the guy said, his head lulled to one side, a smile stretching his mouth wide. "They are coming. Perhaps it is you who will be worthy. You and your black soul –"

That was all that he got out as Dean punched him again to shut him up, that head snapping back, eyes glazed for a moment from the pain before focusing again. Sam looked over at him for a second, frowning before going back to his scribbling and Dean took a deep breath.

"They are coming," the guy whispered over and over again as Dean put the book down on the far dresser. "They are coming."

Sam had brought an equipment bag up here and he got out the salt, lining the doors and windows even though it probably wouldn't slow anything down, especially humans. He even sprayed a demon trap onto the wall opposite the door for good measure but there were only so many protections he knew to actually stop something from advancing.

"Wanna hurry up with that, Sam?" he asked, looking at his brother who suddenly looked more angry than worried. Not that Dean blamed him, probably a stupid thing to ask.

"I think – maybe," his brother said, standing at last. "Not even sure what this thing is but maybe."

The sound of the door crashing open downstairs got them in gear as they went to the altar. Sam dousing it with holy water and began to read from his notes, his right hand outstretched, eyes half-closed as the room trembled. Dean knew something inhumane was coming, could scent it on the wind and he knew they didn't have the proper weapons.

Fumbling for his lighter, he got it out and lit, igniting his bundle of dried twigs, before going to Sam, pulling them from his pocket, lighting them and placing it in his brother's right hand. There was something calming in the smell, something that made him think of the few happy memories he had, swimming in his own head before the door burst open and five men stormed in.

"He's making a sacrifice," their kidnapped guy intoned. "They think they can stop us but they can't."

Sam didn't even flinch as he kept reading, Dean pulling out his gun, not liking the killing of humans. And they were humans. The one they had gotten to first was human, bled red, laughed and bayed like a wolf at times, but was human.

The men came forward and Dean shot. He didn't have a choice as one collapsed to his knees and he back up against Sam who was reading at a fevered pitch. The air from their bundles was burning sweet, the men staring at them as Dean ignored the urge to empty his whole clip into the lot of them.

Then that suffocating feeling, whatever had been following them was there and Dean swore he heard a growl like a thousand dogs as Sam finished. All Dean wanted him to do was read faster because they weren't getting out of this alive if he didn't. There was wind in the room, fierce and blowing across everything.

Screaming, so much screaming, as the other men collapsed to their knees, eyes bleeding as Sam said the final words. There was the sensation of pulling, something coming and dragging and he grabbed the bedpost, then Sam, holding on as the screams intensified, blood pouring from their eyes and he tried not to look as they died. He tried not to feel some kind of smug satisfaction as they bleed out as the thing was driven past them, the large window exploding, and he put his head down, Sam's arm around him as they ducked.

Then all the bodies collapsed to the floor, eyes wild and vacant, no signs of life as he gradually let go of his brother and the bed. Their little bundles of twigs still burned, covering the scent of fresh blood and burnt flesh.

No words needed to be spoken as they both got out of there, Sam pushing the book into the bag. Dean did not want that thing near him, but he knew it was better in the trunk than leaving it here out in the open. They'd have to find a way to burn it later or encase it in concrete to drop in an ocean if that wasn't an option. Anything so that it didn't show back up in his life that kept dragging on.

He wanted to ask his brother if he thought it really worked as they got to the car. He wanted to ask what that was that rushed past them with thick darkness on every side. He wanted to ask why they were still doing this since they could just pack up, leave, and spend the rest of their lives on an island.

He couldn't ask any of those questions though.

The chalice had shattered, the men had died, something had been shoved back. These things he knew and could embrace as he turned Baby on.

"Grab our stuff and get the hell out before they're found?"

"Yep."

"Don't suppose you wanna stop on the way for food. Starving man."

Sam groaned something easier in him now as he leaned his head back. "You always are. And no, flee first, then find you a beer and a burger. Don't wanna die because you had to have bacon."

Dean pretended to grumble, hiding his relief that it was still Sam sitting over there, tired and dirty, and probably still terrified, but it was his brother. Fingers still shaking, he pulled out and got them going towards the abandoned hovel that was currently home for the next few minutes or so.


End file.
